


Farming— & Other Non-Violent Activities

by wowzaKy



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: & by the referenced canon-typical violence (almost forgot to tag that onE-), Canon Compliant, Comfort No Hurt, Fluff, Potato Farming, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Slice of Life, Techno farms potatoes with Philza Minecraft, but the second half of SBI is only mentioned, if there is hurt it is mostly implied by techno's raging trust issues, okay well the comfort no hurt tag is mildly ambiguous, that’s it that’s the fic, “Retirement” Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28589370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wowzaKy/pseuds/wowzaKy
Summary: Technoblade takes a day out of his retirement to go farming with Philza.Chat is there too. But, well, they always are.
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), technoblade & chat
Comments: 15
Kudos: 158





	Farming— & Other Non-Violent Activities

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CunningCrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CunningCrow/gifts).



> Secret Santa days after Christmas poG? 
> 
> This is,, kinda scuffed,, ngl ,, 
> 
> ANYWaYs- hope you enjoy noot 0:  
> tbh i got mildly stressed writing this, you are a very intimidating human person akdkaldkal

Techno can’t remember a time without the voices—his self-dubbed “Chat”, ever constant companions chattering in his ear every hour of the day.

They’ve been with him longer than anyone he knows. Longer than his adopted brothers, longer than even Phil; long before he knew the taste of safety.

He knows they’ll be there long after his pseudo-family’s gone. That’s just how it is, how it’ll always be. Even if sometimes he wants nothing more than to dropkick his chat into the sun.

E **TECHNO THE LOGS** e _E_ /rainbow chat **LOGS LOGS LOGS** E wwhats going on i just got here _Everyone stop spamming!!_ **You forgot THE LOGS** e _E E_

“Chat, I don’t need the logs.” Techno groans. To his chagrin, this somehow increases their volume and speed, like his complainin’ was a power boost, a speed potion of some sort, only ten times more annoying, “Unbelievable”

“Listen Chat, listen, I’m just goin’ to meet Phil, and then we’re goin’ to go work on the farm. That’s all. That’s it. No need for logs, Chat. Literally nothing is lost by my leaving them there”

LOGG **PHILZA POG** _phil???_ E DADZA DADZA **e** E **WE’RE MEETING PHIL** Pogchamp! _Bring philza logs!!!!!!!!_ E CALL PHILZA

He sighs.

++

Ever since leaving L’manburg behind—not that they’d be welcoming after he spawned withers on their land and tried to second-time assassinate their president—Technoblade swore off violence. The withers were it; his dramatic exit from a blood-bathed era of his life.

Unfortunately, his personal decisions weren’t those of his voices, who, without their regularly scheduled gore and action, had only grown more bloodthirsty, constantly demanding murder- blood for the blood god, and all that jazz. Without a ‘proper’ outlet, they’d made it their mission to give him a daily migraine with their never-ending screams.

Not going to lie, he was inching closer and closer to the line of just- stabbing the nearest individual to get them to shut up. But no. Techno was determined, dedicated to sticking to his retirement plans. If not for himself, for Phil. Phil, who had an alarming amount of faith in him. Phil, who had practically raised him, who viewed him as more than a weapon, who stuck by his side like some unshakeable, feathery parasite (not that he’d ever get rid of Phil, he was _Phil_ ) despite Techno’s many faults. Hell, they’d even taken over a server together!

(Notch, those were the days. What he’d give to go back to the simpler times of the Antarctic Empire- though, his snowy cabin was a good enough substitute, he supposed)

((It was not. His cabin is boring. If only he hadn’t promised to refrain from crime))

If this were one of his books, the ones lining his bookshelves and heartstrings, Philza Minecraft would be Chaos, himself Tartarus ( _Wilbur some twisted form of Eros, choked by his own love, doomed to wither away under its suffocating weight. Tommy Gaia- he always was the brightest of them_ ). The creator of the universe and his son, the embodiment of hell; body the cage for the violent and evil.

'

**CHAOSZA POG** e _TECHNOS THE NETHER ON STERIODS KEKW_ blood for the blood god **LMAOOOOOOO** TECHNOKILL BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD BLOOD for the bLOOD GOD

“Chat, _please_ ”

If this were one of his books, it would end in tragedy. Notch, he could argue it already had. He could even argue this story was doomed for tragedy long before he arrived, back in the beginning, when its characters decided they needed to implement ridiculous things like taxes and governments.

But, well, it wasn’t his problem, was it? He’d come to this server to uphold anarchy and uphold it he had. Literally not once had he lied or misled his fellows on his beliefs or stance—it wasn’t his fault they’re idiots.

Besides, he’s in retirement now! ~~Excluding the secret vault of wither skulls, but a man’s got to have a hobby, am I right?~~ All the wars and politics and excessive drivel staining his good mood a relic of the past. Nah. Techno has better things to do with his time now, like start an illegal villager trading post in his basement and farm potatoes with his pseudo-father.

Speaking of Phil, here the man comes now- 

“Techno! Hey mate!” Speckled black and grey wings tuck as Philza expertly glides to a stop, wind-ruffled and grinning. His signature green-striped bucket hat has been swapped for a paler blue, matching his clothes, matching _Techno’s_ clothes. ‘Til the day he dies (which, Technoblade never dies) Techno will deny the warm feeling that spreads across his chest at the sight. It’s nice to know not everyone in his life has left him.

PHILZAAAAA _**dadza dadza dadza!!!!!!**_ I love his clothes **FIT CHECK** TECHNOFARMER YAY PHIL’s HERE! _He looks so good omggg_

“Nice braids.” Phil says, gesturing to Techno’s twin braids, and he snorts, fixing his straw hat straight on his head, mindful of the many golden earrings jutting from his pointed ears.

“You know me, always getting with the trends”

Phil chuckles, “Ah, of course.” A netherite hoe drops from his inventory and into his hands, plethora of enchantments shining under the morning sun. Techno’s already slung across his shoulders. “So. Where to?”

“I’ve got a plot started west of my house. Nothing extravagant, I was thinking we could expand today.”

“I feel like extravagant means something different to you than me, mate.” Stretching out his wings, Phil hums, “Lead the way.”

And off they go. Philza on his wings and Techno with his trident.

++

There’s something to be said about flying. The feeling of it, at least. How the wind whips past his cheeks, his tusks, makes his eyes water and sting but fills his veins with adrenaline, raw and alive. Spinning miles above the ground, he feels almost as wired as he does during battle, soaked in crimson, voices chanting funeral hymns and prayers in reverence to the blood god. Of course, flying isn’t the same as stabbing, but there’s something visceral about both that thrum through his jaw, set his shoulders alight with a fervent energy, and, most importantly, satisfy Chat.

When Techno’s flying, Chat and him finally reach the same page. It's one of the few things that bring harmony to his mind space—Notch knows why. Having Chat with him 24/7 was like being in charge of a thousand rowdy toddlers but those toddlers are also in a constant state of “on fire”, “high on sugar” and “thirsty for orphan blood”. They got pleased by the dumbest things, nagged him on the most pointless of topics. But to be honest, Techno isn’t sure who he’d be without them.

Like he’d said, Chat had been with him since the beginning. From his first shaky memory of hot reds hazy with heat and sweat and angry squeals and the smack of golden swords against netherrack, annoying voices in his ear screaming about running, fighting, surviving.

AWWWWWWWW _WE LOVE YOU TOO TECHNO_ TECHNOTEACHER **< 3333** aw _KEKW_ He’s going softtttt HEARTS IN CHAT GUYS! <3

“Less than three? Chat, what,” Techno mumbles under his breath as he bends his knees, bracing for impact, “Those supposed to be hearts?” His trident collides with solid dirt, sending vibrations up to his knuckles, grasped tight around its shaft. His hat flutters, but through sheer spite stays situated on his hair—screw gravity.

Phil swoops down next to him, “You good?”

“Peachy.” Techno smirks, eyeing Phil’s own hat, held down by his hand, lest it catch wind itself.

Phil pouts, “I still don’t understand how you do that”

“I’m just that good.”

“Yeah sure, but Techno, mate, I’ve been flying longer than you’ve been alive.”

“Debatable”

“Eh? What’s that supposed to mean?” Phil squawks, indignance a poor mask for his amusement.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, old man.” Techno snorts, pivoting on his heel to face a hill so choked by sunflowers it’s a wonder the grass wasn’t dead. Not pausing, he strides up it, zero hesitation as he wades through flowers thick enough to be considered a fumigation hazard. The pollen tickles his nose, but he pays it no mind, muttering soft comments to his chat as he effortlessly climbs.

With a fond sigh, Philza jogs to catch up (Why did all his sons have to be giants with long-ass legs? Truly, a universal injustice), feathers catching every loose stem and petal, sunflowers snagging his robes, “Why. Just… why.” He grumbles, tugging a particularly scuffed bloom from his secondaries—Ender knew how it got caught in those— “Aw, fuck.” Ahead, Techno was already cresting the hill, “Techno, wait a minute!”

His son laughs, but he does indeed stop, leaning against his hoe in a decidedly smug fashion.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Phil calls, smiling as he trudges up the last few yards. Thankfully, the sunflower field seemed to end right past the hill’s top, which sloped down to a large field, previously obscured by wave of flora. “Holy…”

Bordered by a cozy wooden fence, miles upon miles of plowed land stretched farther than he could see, even with his enhanced bird sight. The entrance to the farm stood at the bottom of the hill he currently stood on; the words “Potato Farm” tacked painstakingly precise into an overhead sign. Two chests sat on either side of the entrance and Phil has no doubts about their contents, a new wave of potatoes already primed for harvest. This was… absolutely ridiculous, but, well, not entirely unexpected. This was Technoblade’s potato farm, after all. Techno, his kid who dedicated two years of his life to the craft of potato farming, all to one-up some guy he barely knew.

“This is… This is nothing extravagant?!”

“Bruh. Have you SEEN this place? _Squid_ could do better”

“…. Right.” Phil agrees with raised brows and a chuckle (only a tad hysterical, mind you). The two approach the entrance, but before they can breach the farm, Techno stops, plopping another chest down. No verbal communication needed, they both empty their inventories into it, leaving only a stack of food each and their hoes. Each item less means one more slot for a stack and the father-son duo is nothing if not efficient as fuck.

Face splitting into a wicked grin, Techno swings his hoe ‘round in a loop ( _Show-off_ , Phil thinks, trilling softly— _damn bird instincts giving away his true emotions_ ), and steps under the arched, open gateway, “Time for some expandin’.”

++

Chat’s incapable of shutting their traps. They have inane comments on everything, from how he dresses to who he slaughters. They babble made up words and symbols aloud for no good reason, derail his train of thought every two seconds, and bully him for merely existing. But unlike everything else in his life, they’ll never leave him.

TECHNOSUPPORT TECHNOSUPPORT _< 3 <3_ aW HE /IS/ GOING SOFT **< 3 <3 <3 <3 <3** _TECHNOSUPPORT POGCHAMP!!_ <3 !! **okay but whAt aboUt the lOgs** TECHNOSUPPORT **_POTATOESSSS_** <3 <3 :D

“… colon, capital d? Chat, why are you like this Chat.” Wiping his forehead, he surveyed his fields, glorious and magnificent in their boundless sprawl. Everywhere he turned, newly sprouted shoots, peaky and green, poked up from warm earth. A cool breeze sung its way through the flat plane, making his jewelry chime in dance under the expanse of blue, where clouds painted themselves in fluffy swathes. His limbs felt relaxed in a way he wasn’t when cooped up in his cottage. Alive, but not in the way he is when he’s fighting or flying.

When he fights, it's like his veins have been replaced by live wires. Unpredictable electricity courses through his very being, igniting something deep, dangerous inside him; sword and crossbow conductors. When Technoblade enters the ring, people run, they scream, and _he loves it._

When he flies, he’s mocking death, dangling from a precipice by his fingertips. It’s the feeling of missing the last step of the stair and laughing at the jolt. When he flies he’s untethered, he’s _free_ —free from the burden of being The Blade, a weapon for those he knows to point wherever their hearts please, free from the bounds of structure, reason, free from _himself._

But farming? Farming is like sinking into a warm vat of liquid gold. It’s the first bite of a fresh apple, red and crisp. It’s sinking bare feet into soft sand, the smell of old books, ancient and wise in ways mortals may never know, it’s the coarse plush of wool pressed to a palm. Farming reminds him of his home. Not the retirement house, no, but his first home. With Philza. With Wilbur and Tommy. When Technoblade farms, he feels loved.

**_LMAOOO_** :(( my HEART **hahahahhaha what a nerd** _< 3 <3 <3_ TECHNOSUPPORT **Ne r d** TECHNOSOFT blood for the blood god _SBI SUPREMECY!!!!!!!_

His eyes roll despite the quirk of his lips, “God, I can’t have anything nowadays”

“What was that?” Phil asks from his place across the field. Techno softens his features, waving a hand as he calls back,

“Nothing Phil, don’t worry”

“Heh- if you say so, mate!”

As he surveys the behemoth that is his potato farm, Techno allows a true smile, real and genuine, grace his expression; satisfied, for once. Sweat sticks under his clothes and dirt under his nails and compost clouds his nose, but he’s happy. Happy with the work he’s done, is doing, happy to have Phil here with him. Happy, surprisingly, with his Chat. Turns out they can have their moments.

**AWWWW** e e e e e _WE LOVE YOU TECHNO_

On occasion, that is.

“Today’s been good.” he hums. 

It really has.

**Author's Note:**

> I probably won’t add onto this but yeehaw, critiques, comments, & any voiced concerns r much appreciated.
> 
> [edit: current vibe is— rereading this at 5:30 a.m. , realizing how many times Philza says “mate” in my 2,277 word one-shot, & then panicking before realizing it’s not an over exaggeration in the slightest, man _really_ likes the word aldkalslal-]


End file.
